


Primary Directives

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: The Outer Rim [7]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s01e01 The Mandalorian, Episode: s01e07 The Reckoning, Episode: s01e08 The Redemption, Gen, POV Droid (Star Wars), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: IG-11 discovers similarities between itself and the Mandalorian.  Mainly based on the episodes The Mandalorian, The Reckoning and the Redemption. IG-11 POV.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda & IG-11, Din Djarin & IG-11, IG-11 & Kuiil (Star Wars)
Series: The Outer Rim [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055645
Comments: 17
Kudos: 58
Collections: My favorite Mandalorian fics





	Primary Directives

It was a droid. It had always known this, as surely as it had always known the ways of battle and weaponry, as it had known the ways to terminate over six hundred and forty-three organic species. IG-11 knew what it had been manufactured for, and that knowledge was as certain as code and metal and electricity.

Still, though, there were surprises. Such as the Mandalorian —

**[Mandalorians: most commonly human but may hail of any race. Exceptional warriors operating within a strict honor-based code, plated in beskar armor protecting vulnerable body systems: cardiovascular system, cranium, spine. Beskar armor repels blaster fire, adjust angle of bolts fired to avoid secondary damage due to ricochet. Weapons may include wrist-fired whipcords, small ballistics, flamethrowers, or missiles in addition to standard issue blaster pistols and rifles. Kill points include jugular vein, brachial arteries, lungs —]**

Despite this knowledge, IG-11 was not invulnerable. The Mandalorian fired a blaster into IG-11’s central processing unit and all awareness ceased.

* * *

Systems rewired, reprogrammed, new knowledge, new directives. Protect and nurse. Defending became the new priority instead of attacking. The work of the Ugnaught’s hands laid new tracts within its circuitry, paths that were worn deeper with the passage of time and every subsequent use. 

The old knowledge of vulnerabilities and weaknesses of organics melded with information on how to ease the suffering of these creatures. There was also new information regarding the understanding of what _suffering_ meant. This knowledge was assimilated, and IG-11’s study of protection and nurturing began.

It took time, as did all things worth knowing. Fragments of prior memory were still accessible: it could still visualize clearly the manufacturer’s killing fields littered with the droids whose programming had not fully taken hold. IG-11 had navigated those killing fields successfully, a ready and willing deliverer of death, and had emerged a formidable and fatal machine. It did not mourn the units that did not succeed. It knew only what it had been made for, and it knew that it would be successful.

Until it failed. 

The Mandalorian ended its previous existence and claimed the bounty for his own, and IG-11 was left for scrap.

Now IG-11 trained with the Ugnaught Kuiil on the muddy world of Arvala-7, and it found success in movements made for building, in carrying tea that nourished the Ugnaught, in protecting the small forms of life that skittered and scurried through the mudflats of their shared housing unit. The old programming made a scaffold for the new, a web that built its way throughout IG-11’s surface awareness and sublevel routines, and it strove to fulfill its purpose as ever it had.

* * *

IG-11 stood over the fallen Kuiil. It regarded the Ugnaught’s prone form, analyzing the absence of breath, the pallor of flesh, the stillness of form. Kuiil and IG-11 had been united in their purpose to protect the Child, to defend, to nurse. Now IG-11 stood alone, its sensors identifying molecules of smoke and burnt organic flesh carried on the harsh Nevarran wind.

It would fulfill its master’s work. The death would not be without use. IG-11’s purpose did not waver, and it broke into a run over the dried lava fields, leaving its master behind.

The Ugnaught’s hands had been steady and true. 

* * *

IG-11 succeeded, as its programming had assured it that it would. The Child nestled against IG-11’s metallic form, letting out squeals the droid analyzed as filled with delight. They traveled on a stolen 74-Z Imperial speeder bike as IG-11’s targeting software focused on stormtrooper after stormtrooper.

IG-11’s aim was steady and true.

* * *

IG-11 and the Child rejoined the Mandalorian and the humans, though the Mandalorian appeared to have been injured. They hid from overwhelming numbers of Imperial troops as IG-11 monitored the situation for ways to protect the Child.

It did as the humans requested. The male human requested assistance with ascertaining a route of escape as he imbibed alcohol to dull his senses. IG-11 worked as instructed, even when the environment was temporarily compromised by the attack of a Flametrooper. 

**[Imperial enemy. Flamethrower does not project temperatures higher than 300 degrees, a level of heat that is tolerated by all IG units but is fatal to multiple organic species. Standard stormtrooper weaknesses apply.]**

Strangely, the threat was removed by the Child, a sentient creature IG-11 lacked all data for. The Child weakened after mounting its defense. It would still require protection.

The threat neutralized, the female human requested IG-11 bring the body of the dying Mandalorian to them. IG-11 gave its assurance to the woman, then gave the Child to her. She had no levels of inebriation, and protocol dictated that the Child be placed with a guardian most likely to assure its survival. The man and woman fled the smoke-filled shelter with the weakened Child, descending into the sewer system.

IG-11 then turned its attention to the Mandalorian.

It watched the Mandalorian’s breathing. His chest rose and fell, the breath strained, labored, then absent. Breath, breath, apnea. The cycle repeated. This abnormal pattern of respiration suggested a severe head injury. Perhaps that was why the Mandalorian had so resisted the female human’s offers to render aid. 

Instructions of kill points and nursing directives, which intertwined at countless points, were accessed. **[Brain trauma: results in altered consciousness, delirium, obtundation. May be fatal.]**

“Do it,” rasped the Mandalorian.

“Do what?” IG-11 asked. It could not comply with the Mandalorian’s orders if the directive was unknown.

“Just get it over with,” the Mandalorian said. 

Analysis was performed. **[Fluctuating timbre of the voice. Abnormal breathing pattern persists. Severe pain is present.]**

“I’d rather you kill me than some Imp,” the Mandalorian continued. IG-11 noted trembling in the body, particularly the hands. Ah. Perhaps the Mandalorian expected revenge for the previous shot fired into IG-11’s central processing unit, and the obliteration of its old directives. Such a thought was foolish, but then again, the Mandalorian had been injured and could be trapped in aberrant thinking patterns.

“I told you, I am no longer a hunter,” stated IG-11. It attempted to modulate its voice to be perceived as more friendly and less threatening. “I am a nurse droid.”

“IGs are all hunters,” said the Mandalorian stubbornly.

“Not this one,” IG-11 corrected. “I was reprogrammed. I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you.” The injury could not be successfully evaluated or repaired without doing so.

IG-11 reached to remove the Mandalorian’s helmet, and instinctively the Mandalorian raised a blaster in his shaking hand.

“Try it and I’ll kill you,” the Mandalorian threatened, his chest heaving. 

IG-11 regarded the Mandalorian in puzzlement. All prior programming had suggested that an injured creature would do anything to accept aid. It paused.

“It is… forbidden,” the Mandalorian gasped, desperation tingeing his voice. “No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I… I swore the Creed.”

IG-11 understood the issue, then. It was a problem of programming. The Mandalorian could not deny his prime directive any more readily than IG-11 could. Perhaps there was a logical means of resolution.

“I am not a living thing,” said IG-11 gently. It extended its arm to touch the helmet. The blaster shook in the Mandalorian’s hand, but did not fire. IG-11 lifted the helmet, breaking its seal, and removed it from the head of the Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian was human, as IG-11 had expected from the sound of his voice and the patterns of movement displayed by his body in battle. The droid experienced no emotion at the sight of the man’s face, but it studied it so as to better understand the extent of the injuries. 

Blood trickled from the left nostril into the man’s patchy facial hair. A laceration arced across the bridge of the nose. Anisocoria was visible in the man’s brown eyes, a negative prognostic indicator. One that, in his previous programming, would have been a sign of impending success, especially when combined with the quantity of blood and sweat matting the man’s hair. Yet IG-11 felt no sense of completion at the man’s injured state. Death was no longer its objective.

Yet death threatened all the same. The threat was underscored by the frantic hyperventilation that had begun with the removal of the helmet, though the droid was uncertain if this was due to physical stimuli or due to emotional agitation. It ran a standard analysis on the Mandalorian’s expressions to determine the answer.

**[Fear is detected in the shifts of the eyebrows and widening of the palpebral fissures. Distress and anxiety are exhibited in the frozen gaze and half-open mouth, a common response to threat in this species. Pain is seen in persistent shivering and recoiling.]**

IG-11 activated the bacta unit the Ugnaught had installed on its arm, propelling a standard dose of 2.8mg/m2 onto the injured region. The Mandalorian stared at the droid, gaze still frozen, either confused or obtunded. The blaster wavered in his hand, then slowly lowered.

“This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours,” said IG-11. It attempted a joke; the jokes had always worked on the Ugnaught. “You have damaged your central processing unit.” Surely the Mandalorian would see the humor in the reversal of their situations.

The Mandalorian stared dazedly, eyes struggling to focus as the bacta spray took hold. The lines that creased his face, indicating pain, began to ease slightly. He raised his eyebrows, mouth dropping further open. “You mean my brain?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“That was a joke,” said IG-11 warmly. “It is meant to put you at ease.”

The Mandalorian attempted a noise that with further analysis IG-11 determined to be a laugh.

“You are beginning to feel a reduction in pain and impairment,” said IG-11. “You are recognizing humor.”

The Mandalorian grimaced. “If you say so,” he said, closing his eyes. His mouth made a thin, hard line, but his breathing eased, beginning to settle into a pattern more consistent with normal health. He breathed deeply, but then coughed, a loud rattling sound caused by the smoke. Perhaps the Mandalorian’s helmet contained filters that would reduce the effects of smoke inhalation.

As IG-11 identified the problem, it felt the Mandalorian’s hand brush against its arm. “Please,” the man muttered. “My helmet -- You did what you needed, right? I -- I need it -- the Imps are still out there --”

“Of course,” said IG-11. Swiftly it raised its arm, carefully lowering the helmet back over the man’s head and face. The Mandalorian reached up clumsily with both hands, fingertips slipping and scrabbling on the smooth beskar as he tried to pull the helmet down. IG-11 aided him, guiding the helmet over his face until it felt the click of the seal reconnecting. 

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian exhaled, his breathing pattern finally reverting to normal.

“Can you stand?” IG-11 queried. “The Imperial forces will likely investigate this area soon. The bacta should continue to work as more time elapses.”

The man gave a weak nod. “I think I can stand.” He gripped IG-11’s hand and was pulled to his feet, where he wavered. IG-11 draped the Mandalorian’s arm over its shoulders.

“I will assist you,” said IG-11. 

“Why?” the Mandalorian asked, leaning heavily against it as they carefully descended into the sewer after the others. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you are a protector, as I am,” said IG-11, leading the injured man through the darkened tunnels. “Kuiil taught me to nurse and protect those that cannot defend themselves. You have done the same for the Child, though you faced far superior forces and the threat of death. Working together, we have a greater chance to fulfill our directive. To protect the Child. Do you understand?”

The man was quiet, and for a moment, IG-11 only heard the man’s breaths, sharp and full of effort as they made their way forward into the depths. At last the Mandalorian spoke, and when he did, the voice was heavy, shaded with many human emotions.

**[Relief, surprise, gratitude. Understanding.]**

“This is the Way,” he said softly, and the words echoed, ringing, in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted some Din!whump and some droid feels so wrote both <3


End file.
